"It's a start," Mr. Sinclair said, seriously. "We have to do something."
George hid his sneer. Everywhere the spirit was growing to make any kind of a drum that would bang.
"If you don't think Wilson will keep us out of it," he asked, earnestly, "why not get after Wilson and make him start something general, efficient, fundamental? I've never heard of a President who wasn't sensitive to the pressure of the country."
There was no use talking that way. These people were satisfied with the noise at Plattsburgh. He was glad when the meal ended, when he could get away.
At the automobile he managed to help Sylvia into her cloak, and he took the opportunity to whisper:
"When is the great event coming off?"
She turned, looked at him, and didn't answer. She mounted to the back seat beside Dalrymple.
XX
George didn't see her again until winter. He heard through the desolate Blodgett that she had gone with her parents to the Canadian Rockies.
Nearly everyone seemed to flee north that summer as if in a final effort to cajole play. The Alstons moved to Maine unusually early, and didn't return until late fall. Betty put it plainly enough to him then.